10 April 2008

It’s the weather, or so they say. One day rain. Then the next, the sun blares alone in a blank sky dry of clouds and it seems like everything else, too. The bewildered birds stay put in the trees. There’s shade in ‘em.

A body can’t hardly get used to changes that fast. The sun is out now, roasting the pavements and wilting dandelions, but in my fingers it’s still drizzling, and in my knee, it’s raining like hell.